My dad, David Elleray, was never stuck for words. Talking was his number one hobby.

He held court at parties and was of the view that everyone would want to listen to his knowledge on any given subject.

Annoyingly, stories from his years in journalism, tales of his chart success and touring with his rock band mixed with his quick wit and charm ensured that more often than not this was actually the case.

We had an unbreakable father-daughter bond and together we enjoyed putting the world to rights and shared a passion for writing, Manchester United, and music.

Growing up, he was my hero and my inspiration for choosing the same career path into journalism.

But I will always regret that none of our late-night chats ever touched on the subject of dementia – despite the fact both his parents lived with the condition. It was always lurking in the shadows but was never openly spoken about.

My granddad was in his late 80s when he was diagnosed and as a teenager, rightly or wrongly, I found humour in some of the behaviour he displayed.

He would talk about insects on the walls, and even framed a photo of the Scottish Widow – thinking it was his wife.

My nana had early onset dementia, passing away before I was born when Dad was only in his 20s.

Many years later, it felt like history was repeating itself, and I was scared.

The morning my dad had to be sectioned in 2006 and later got his diagnosis of dementia at the age of 62, I felt shattered.

I found it much harder to see the funny side to dad’s dementia – although there were moments.

He used to repeatedly ask me for cigarette sandwiches, mix custard in with his roast beef and refuse to share his jelly babies with my sons.

The hardest thing was when he lost his speech – I think he would rather have given up his right arm. But at least I could get a word in.

He was a proud man, and, looking back, I think he knew for a long time something was wrong but hid it from us.

Whether it was embarrassment, arrogance that it couldn’t be happening to him, fear, or all of the above – I don’t know.

My mum and I had noticed changes in the early days. When I came home from university at weekends, I just put some of his strange behaviour down to him being an embarrassing parent.

The young David Elleray. Photograph: Kirsty Day

My now-husband, who was a new boyfriend at the time, would come round every Sunday to watch the football and Dad would keep repeating the same Elvis Presley line – “I don’t like crazy music” if you were wondering.

I was irritated by him, the way Harry Enfield’s character Kevin the teenager would have been irritated. Now that thought makes me feel guilty.

It felt like a breakthrough when he finally agreed to go to the doctor – a feat in itself. But he was repeatedly sent away, told he had depression.

This frustrating sequence of events came to a head when dad refused to eat and the doctor had to be called out. I will never forget the look on his face that day; he was shocked at how bad things had got. The doctor immediately rang for an ambulance and Dad went into hospital against his will.

When he finally got a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease, we all breathed a sigh of relief. Dad had to move into a care home, as his condition progressed quickly. But it felt like we had an answer and with it we could start to think of ways to live with it.

Three months ago, I decided to leave my job as a journalist and start a career with the Alzheimer's Society after seeing there was a vacancy for a campaign and media officer.

Now I am banging the drum for dementia. People will talk of other conditions like cancer more openly. We need to talk about dementia and remove the stigma.

It is not just families and friends that need to talk about it more but the wider community.

The Alzheimer's Society is trying to get as many towns and cities on board to become dementia-friendly communities and more and more organisations and individuals are becoming receptive to the idea.

Coincidentally, 19 May would have been my dad’s birthday and the close of the awareness week also marks the first anniversary of his death. I’m not sure I believe in signs but if I did I would say that this is a conversation he now wants to get in on.

•Dementia awareness week runs from 19-25 May. Kirsty Day is campaign and media officer for the north-west for the Alzheimer’s Society